


Coin

by Eralk Fang (EralkFang)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Objectification, Oral Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EralkFang/pseuds/Eralk%20Fang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo’s been meaning to spend the coin of Hux’s lust for him ever since he discovered it. He wanted to spend it on something far more spectacular than his right to leave the <em>Finalizer</em> in his own shuttlecraft. But coin, especially of this currency, is meant to be spent, not hoarded. If it gets him even one more step closer to Skywalker, it’s worth it. </p><p>And if he enjoys himself in the process, then so be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the following prompt at tfa_kink](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/2821.html?thread=4352005#cmt4352005):
>
>>   
> **Kylo/any, fingering himself for them**  
>  Preferably Hux, preferably while Hux verbally humiliates him, but anything featuring him masturbating and fingering his hole desperately while he moans to put on a show for someone would be so appreciated
> 
> Also a little inspired by [crystallizedtwilight's charming comic](http://crystallizedtwilight.tumblr.com/post/138591038633/theyre-still-figuring-out-how-their-relationship).

“For the last time, Ren, _no_. You can’t be spared.”

General Hux doesn’t even have the decency to look Kylo in the eye—or the visor, as the case may be. He simply continues to tap away at his datapad, occasionally pausing to consult the paperwork on his desk. Kylo fists his hands and suppresses the urge to pick up the small bust of Grand Moff Tarkin on the edge of Hux’s desk and hurl it into something. Kylo takes a deep breath to calm himself, a sound the mask turns into a growl. 

“You are thwarting the will of Supreme Leader,” he reminds Hux. 

Hux scoffs. “The Supreme Leader’s will is that you find Skywalker, not that you chase after each and every premonition and aching joint you think you feel.” 

This is stupid. Kylo doesn’t have time to argue about this. By the sunrise after next on the planet below, the Force signature he can sense will be gone. It’s been fading exponentially ever since they came into orbit. He wishes, not for the last time, that he could simply reach into Hux’s head and make him do what he wants. But Supreme Leader has been more than clear—Hux’s mind is off-limits. Kylo can only utilize what Hux unwittingly broadcasts.

And what he broadcasts is… enlightening. Kylo assumes that Hux’s conscious mind must be as orderly, dull, and bloody-minded as the man himself, but his much-vaunted control does not extend into his dreams. On more than one occasion, Kylo has walked by his quarters in the dead of ship’s night and caught the outline of Hux’s dreams—relived childhood traumas, clichéd power fantasies, and the singular object of his lust. 

It’s always so strange to see his own face unmirrored before Hux comes on it. 

Kylo pauses his pacing and reevaluates Hux. He’s been meaning to spend the coin of Hux’s lust for him ever since he discovered it. He wanted to spend it on something far more spectacular than his right to leave the _Finalizer_ in his own shuttlecraft. But coin, especially of this currency, is meant to be spent, not hoarded. If it gets him even one more step closer to Skywalker, it’s worth it. 

And if he enjoys himself in the process, then so be it. 

Hux stands up and crosses the office to consult the larger console, summoning two personnel files to compare. “What if I gave you something?” Kylo asks, approaching Hux carefully. 

“Aren’t you monastic types supposed to give up worldly possessions?” He finally glances at Kylo, raising an eyebrow loftily at him. His pale face is stained blue by the glow of the screens. His eyes narrow as he turns to face Kylo. “What could you possibly give me?” 

Kylo takes a step into the circle of Hux’s personal space. One of Hux’s hands flies up between them, to ward him off, but it falters and curls when Kylo slides his hand over Hux’s clavicle, touching his gloved fingers to the exposed flesh of Hux’s neck. “What you want,” Kylo says. He says it calmly, neutrally, but the mask lowers his voice to a growl that has an obvious and immediate effect on Hux. His pupils dilate imperceptibly and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“What I want?” Hux asks, but he’s not asking what he wants, just repeating Kylo. He seems stunned at the opportunity to get it. Kylo leans in, watching how Hux’s eyes track him, and—

And there’s a sudden knock on the door. Hux twists away from him, as if scalded. “Sir?” comes a timid voice from the other side of the door. “I’m so sorry, sir, but it’s quite urgent.” 

“One moment!” Hux calls out in an unaffected voice. He turns back to Kylo, eyes suddenly sharp. “My personal quarters, an hour from now,” he says quietly, quickly.

“As you wish,” Kylo says, and, satisfied, withdraws. 

 

When Kylo arrives at Hux’s quarters exactly an hour later, fear of missing his window of opportunity making him punctual, Hux is in his refresher. “Get on the bed,” he calls out through the door, over the sound of running water.

Kylo surveys Hux’s quarters with distaste as he passes through them. They look, for lack of a better term, haunted. Someone clearly lives here, but there are no personal details, just clean, cold order.

Perhaps that _is_ the personal detail.

The bedroom, at least, looks a little more lived in, out of necessity. Kylo places his helmet formally on Hux’s side console before settling on the crisply made bed. 

In Hux’s dreams, Kylo is naked, although the body Hux imagines for him is too lithe and unscarred to be his. So Kylo strips, casually, tossing his garments onto the floor. Once he’s naked, he sits cross-legged on the bed, rubbing a hand idly over his leg. The sound of running water ceases from the refresher. The door opens and Kylo looks up to find—

Hux, still in his uniform. He smirks nastily as he rakes his eyes over Kylo’s body. “Eager, aren’t we?”

Instead of joining Kylo on the bed, Hux pulls the armchair from the corner of the room to the foot of his bed. He drops into it as casually, as if it were his throne. His smirk sharpens. “You’re a _whore_ , Ren.”

The space of an hour has made Hux bold, erased the stunned look from his face and, apparently, his memory. “Excuse me?” Kylo asks.

“Trying to trade sexual favors for material gain.” Hux folds his hands in his lap, affecting an sarcastically innocent expression. “I believe that’s the textbook definition, isn’t it?”

Kylo rolls his eyes.

“So go on,” Hux urges, eyebrows dropping into his usual condescending sneer. “Show me how much getting your way is worth to you. Show me how the Master of the Knights of Ren pleasures himself.” 

“But that’s not what—” 

“Not _what_ , Ren? Am I misunderstanding the terms of our agreement? You give me what I want and you get to go off on your wild bantha chase. Am I not correct?” 

Kylo glares. Of _course_ Hux can’t take what is being willingly given graciously. Of _course_ he has to try and debase Kylo in the process. That’s probably why Kylo is his fixation, instead of someone more appropriate—Kylo is the only person, barring Supreme Leader, who ranks with him. There’s a much more direct route to the debasement that Hux seeks, one that Kylo had been planning on and even looking forward to, but if he pushes for it, he may tip his hand. Hux can’t know that Kylo can see his dreams—he might take measures against it and rob Kylo of his only access to Hux’s mind. It’s too tactically useful to risk. He drops his gaze to Hux’s chest. “Correct,” he mutters.

“Glad we cleared up that up,” Hux says, settling further back into the armchair. “So. You said you’d give me what I want. And what I _want_ is to see you make yourself come. That won’t be too difficult, will it, Ren? I’m sure you’re well-practiced at it.”

Kylo shakes his head as he lurches onto his knees, exposing himself casually. He smirks when Hux’s eyes snag on the size of his slowly stirring cock. Yet another incorrect detail in Hux’s otherwise elaborately embroidered fantasies. 

Kylo looks down at his body, running the wrist of his right hand down his torso before taking himself in hand and beginning to stroke himself. Theoretically, this should be even easier than sucking off Hux and letting him come on his face, but pleasuring Hux by pleasuring himself feels counterintuitive. He can only work himself up halfway, too aware of how Hux is watching him like a hawk. Kylo loosens his grip and twists his hand counterclockwise, but his cock seems cowed by Hux’s directive. 

Hux softly clicks his tongue—a sound that would be neutral coming from anyone else. Kylo suddenly feels the need to prove that derisive noise wrong. He shoves the index and middle fingers of his free hand into his mouth, sucking. The quality of Hux’s gaze changes, and Kylo looks up to find Hux’s head tilted, eyes transfixed on his fingers in his mouth. He pushes them in farther than he needs to and pulls them out slowly, showily, hoping to stir some half-remembered dream in Hux. But Hux just watches him. 

It occurs to Kylo that Hux might not even remember his dreams. 

No matter. Kylo reaches down and tucks his wet fingers behind his balls, pressing against his perineum to get at his prostate externally. It takes him a moment to find the right angle—he normally does this on all fours, if at all—but he finds it. He hums and closes his eyes at the different, finer, and no less pleasurable sensation of it, rubbing a slow, wet circle against his skin. His cock pulses hotly in his hand, stiffening slightly, and he feels a faint, absurd glimmer of pride at having found a way through.

He startles as Hux rises to his feet, but his sudden hope of Hux being tempted enough to join him on the bed—where he could flip him onto his back, suck him off, and then be on his way within the hour—is dashed when Hux instead walks over to the side console, pulling something out of a drawer. He returns to his chair and settles back into it with a sigh, throwing whatever he’s retrieved at Kylo. It lands squarely on his chest before falling to the mattress. 

It’s a small jar of oil. 

“I’ve changed my mind, Ren,” Hux declares imperiously, threading his fingers together. “You’re not a whore. Whores provide a valuable service. _You_ , on the other hand, can’t even get it up without something shoved up you.”

Kylo starts to protest—he hadn’t even been _touching_ his hole—but Hux continues. “You’re just a _slut_. A lazy, selfish, _stupid_ slut.”

Nobody’s ever called Kylo _that_ before, so he’s completely unprepared for how it makes his face burn and his cock stiffen to full attention. He grimaces and grunts. Something about Hux finally just insulting him outright makes a perverse heat coil under his skin. He lets go of his cock and pulls away from his perineum to pick up the jar and unscrew the top. He glances at Hux as he slicks up the already wet fingers of his left hand. Hux’s lips are pursed, but his lofty expression hasn’t changed. The jar is small enough that, for Kylo, it’s single use, so he empties it. He drops the top and jar onto the sheets, where they drool oil onto Hux’s bed. 

Hux makes a face at the mess, and Kylo feels a little thrill of triumph at that. He tucks his dripping fingers behind his balls again, and then pushes farther back. The feel of cold oil against his puckering rim makes him moan. 

“Look how much you want to be _fucked_ ,” Hux taunts. “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would want to fuck you when they could fuck that pretty mouth of yours. I bet you’re terrible at it.” Kylo swallows a retort. That’s objectively not true. Admittedly, his sample size is in the low single digits, but Kylo has never had any complaints. He’s even had requests for encores.

“You probably gag and choke until tears run down your face, but you don’t let up, do you? Who knows when someone else will take pity on you and let you touch them? You probably get so hard from it, from being _misused_ …” 

The effects of Hux’s words are both instantaneous and powerful. Kylo finds himself half in his body, dealing with the mechanical challenge of working a finger into himself, and half elsewhere, in sudden thrall to Hux’s filthy imagination. His mind conjures up fits and snatches from his limited, furtive experience to supplement Hux’s words—hands in his hair, his own hands braced on hips, the thick press of a stiff cock against the back of his throat. 

“Just because your face is wet doesn’t mean they’re getting off, Ren,” Hux hisses. Kylo gasps as his cock throbs. His face is burning, but the idea of it—of choking hard enough to _gag_ , mouth and throat stuffed full of someone’s cock—makes his head swim. “And maybe after you’ve choked yourself on enough cocks, someone will pity you and give you the fucking that you so obviously need.”

Kylo gasps as his questing index finger slips into his slick entrance. He presses in, groaning, until his knuckle bumps against his rim. 

“I want to see,” Hux demands suddenly. “Get on your back.”

Kylo spreads his legs until he can drop his hips onto the bed without removing his finger, awkwardly untucking his legs from under him. He rolls onto his back, bending his knees and pressing his heels into the mattress. He tilts his hips up, and can’t resist pressing deeper into himself, grunting a little at the sensation. He can feel his body start to relax, warmth suffusing him. It’s easier to touch himself like this, lying on his back, staring at the anonymous ceiling of Hux’s quarters. He takes a deep breath and presses his middle finger against his slick rim until it slips in to join the first. 

“I bet you’d take anyone. They don’t even have to be human, do they? Doesn’t matter what they’ve got, just as long as it’s thick enough to fuck you with.” 

The derision in Hux’s voice sends an electric current through Kylo’s body. He squeezes his eyes shut just to focus on the topography of Hux’s voice—the clipped consonants, the crisp vowels, the tremble of lust hidden inexpertly behind his carefully careless intonation. Kylo begins plunging his fingers in and out of himself in earnest, but that won’t be enough, that’s never enough. He wraps his free hand around his leaking cock, sliding his hand from the tip to the base to spread precome down his shaft. He seeks blindly for his prostate and hits it unexpectedly. He chokes out a gasping noise, face burning. 

“They wouldn’t even have to prepare you, would they? Not if you have to finger yourself _loose_ just to rub one out.” Hux’s breathing is growing more labored. Kylo’s almost curious to see what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to break the spell—he’s close, so close that he forces himself to loosen his hand, ease back his fingers. “They’ll just slide right in,” Hux coos nastily. “Nice and easy, and treat you exactly how you deserve to be. Just a warm, wet, willing _hole_.” 

Kylo cries out, torn between driving himself to orgasm and delaying it. He ends up squeezing himself to last a few seconds longer and plunging his fingers as deep as he can. His lower back arches off of the bed. 

“And I bet,” Hux continues, as loftily as he can manage, “I bet you’d find a way to be terrible at _that_. You’d just lie there uselessly, moaning like the whore you are, while they hold you down and use your body for all it’s worth. Do you think they’d let you come? Do you think they’d even _care_?” 

Kylo’s been fucked twice, and both times have been reverent, not rough. But the idea of being fucked like _that_ , being _used_ for someone else’s pleasure, being left wet, sore, and _wanting_ , makes him shudder bodily. He can almost imagine it. Hands digging almost painfully into his hips, a cock being driven into him at a punishing pace that will leave him sore for days, cruel lips, perhaps even teeth, on his neck, all as he fists his hand in short, red hair in a futile effort to just _hang on_ as Hux fucks him like a savage beast—

Kylo lets out a low, sighing groan as he comes, hips snapping upward as he stripes his stomach and chest with his own spend. He pumps himself empty, before sagging back into the mattress. His heavy breathing is a roaring noise in his ears. His cock slowly softens in his hand, and he pulls his fingers out with a slick noise. After a few moments, he opens his eyes. 

Hux is still perched in the armchair in the same position, eyes glittering maliciously and hands tensed into claws on his knees. Combined with his ghoulish pallor, he looks almost monstrous—or would be, if it wasn’t for the obvious, embarrassing tent in his pants. His eyes are still focused on Kylo, but they’re faraway, distant, as if Hux has reached some internal impasse, unable to follow Kylo over the edge he shoved him over. Kylo may be naked, but he feels like Hux is much more exposed than he is.

Kylo’s disappointed. At the very least, Hux could have _masturbated_ to him. 

“Hux,” Kylo says, rubbing his nose with his dry hand before sitting up. “Hux,” he repeats, when Hux doesn’t respond. Hux only snaps out of his reverie when Kylo lurches to all fours on the bed, nearly between his knees. He looks startled, confused. Kylo snorts. “You’re wrong,” he says, casually. “I’m not terrible at it.” 

He shoves his head in Hux’s lap, pressing his crown to Hux’s stomach, and Hux does nothing to stop him. Kylo makes short work of Hux’s belt and fly before reaching in and tugging out Hux’s cock. It’s red and leaking precome. Hux must be achingly close. Kylo presses an open-mouthed kiss to its base before running his lips up the shaft. The head of Hux’s cock brushes against his cheek, smearing precome against his cheekbone. What’s left at the tip, he licks off showily, before swallowing Hux to the hilt.

He expects Hux to call him a whore again for that, but when he glances up, Hux is just _staring_ at him, transfixed, as if he’s seen this somewhere before but can’t quite place it. Kylo swallows, muscles contracting around the hot cock in his throat, and Hux gives a soft, startled moan. Kylo pulls off smoothly, bobbing his head back to cradle the head of Hux’s twitching cock with his tongue.

Hux makes a hoarse, gasping noise, as if Kylo’s punched him in the stomach, and comes. Hux tastes bitter, much more bitter than anyone who’s come in Kylo’s mouth before, and Kylo grimaces. He closes his lips and dips his head a little, just enough to let Hux stripe his face in white. He stares, unflinchingly, at Hux, and continues to do so, even when the last, weak spurt catches him almost across the eye. 

Hux sags in his seat, boneless. Kylo watches him for a moment before pulling back. He grabs a fistful of Hux’s sheets to wipe his face and chest clean. He’s almost tempted to avail himself of Hux’s refresher, but time, now that he’s been reintroduced to the concept, is of the essence. He listens to Hux’s breathing even out as he dresses. As he pulls on his boots, he says, “If you would like me in your bed again, I suggest that you don’t get in my way.”

It’s a bet, one made with currency he’s already spent. Hux doesn’t respond until Kylo rises to his feet, shrouded, once more, in the mantle of the Master of the Knights of Ren. 

Hux stirs, tucking himself back into his pants slowly. “Why bother,” Hux asks, pale eyes flicking to Kylo’s visor, “when getting in your way seems to yield the same result?”

But the way Hux’s eyes snag on his form as he leaves for his shuttle tells Kylo something different. When it comes to Hux’s attraction to him, there’s still plenty of coin left to spend.


End file.
